


Some Minorly Unimportant Details

by lemoninagin



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Morning After, and SMUT, fluff somehow, god what even is this, rarepair month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:16:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i won't apologize for fine art</p></blockquote>





	Some Minorly Unimportant Details

Tsukumoya sucks, that’s really all this boils down to.

 

The bastard told him he couldn’t hold his liquor, and Izaya had set out to prove him wrong. Sure, he doesn’t remember much after their chat online and his subsequent gratuitous downing of every type of alcohol he could get his hands on just to prove a childish point.

 

What the fuck even was  goldschläger ? It doesn’t matter, he decides, he blacked out only shortly after that anyway. And now it’s all Tsukumoya’s fault that he feels like he was run over by a truck filled with 1000 tons of gold going 100 mph straight into his face.

 

Izaya puts a hand to his aching head, trying not to stretch too much under the sheets as every tiny movement makes him feel like dying. He wants to get up to pull the blinds closed as the sunlight hitting his eyes is only increasing the throbbing in his skull, but he simply can’t be bothered. His stomach turns when he heaves out a pained groan and shields his eyes, the alcohol he consumed still feels like it’s sloshing around inside him angrily. His limbs feel heavy, weighted down, almost like there’s something attached to him…

 

“Are you enjoying your hangover so far?” An obnoxiously low voice blows hotly into his ear, and Izaya is so surprised he almost falls off the bed. 

 

He would have, too, if it weren’t for the fact that the annoying voice belonged to a body, which was currently curled up behind him with an arm casually wrapped around his waist.

 

“Y-you!”

 

The man - it’s definitely a man, there’s no question about that - behind him laughs, one finger trailing up his bare thigh absently. Izaya shivers at the touch, hands clenching tighter in the sheets in absolute mortification.

 

“Yes, me. You’re as eloquent as ever, Orihara. So very well spoken. Have you been working on expanding your vocabulary lately? Your progress with such is really showing right now.”

 

Izaya doesn’t want to turn his head, he doesn’t want to deal with the man - who’s obviously no man (not like his precious humans anyway) but a jerkoff by the name of Tsukumoya, nothing more, nothing less. Then again, he also doesn’t want to move. Clearly, there’s a conflict of interest here, and there’s no easy way out. He won’t let Tsukumoya have the satisfaction of knowing how absolutely baffled he is by the whole situation, however, even though he can’t remember a damn thing after chugging glittery golden alcoholic flecks and slurrily making fun of Tsukumoya’s penis size over his webcam.

 

He doesn’t want to think about whether that was the line that ultimately led him to this terrible predicament, and he doesn’t want to imagine what Tsukumoya may have done in retaliation to prove him wrong about that.

 

Oh god.

 

“You…” Izaya clears his throat, quickly urging the squeak in his voice to leave, “... _ pervert _ .”

 

Yes, pervert. His brain is foggy and it’s hard to think clearly, but that seems like a good enough place to start. Tsukumoya snorts, and Izaya can practically  _ hear _ his eyeballs rolling back into his head.

 

“Wow, you got me. I definitely can’t argue with such a convincing and astute observation of my character. Though I must say, I find it interesting you’ve resorted to calling  _ me _ the pervert when  _ you’re _ the only one fully naked between us at the moment.”

 

Izaya seems to notice for the first time that - damn him, damn him all to hell - he’s  _ right _ . He’s completely naked, and when he pushes back the tiniest bit into the warm body  _ just to check to make sure,  _ there’s obviously some sort of cloth - like boxers - thankfully separating direct contact between them. It definitely doesn’t help that Tsukumoya’s still _ cuddling _ him, his wandering fingers drawing wide circles on his back now, which is disgusting and in no way is Izaya enjoying it at all. He’s not sure what to say in response yet, but it doesn’t matter - Tsukumoya’s rambling naturally fills in the pause for him.

 

“It’s really funny now that you mention it. You didn’t seem to mind my depravity much last night, what with the things you asked me to do to you. Ha, or more like, _ begged _ and  _ moaned _ for me to do to you, I should say. You know, I never pegged your painfully awkward self to be into those sorts of things, but I’m glad you let me in on that secret of yours. It’s good to know there’s some trust in between us. Ah, but let me guess? You don’t remember any of it, do you? Well, even if you say you don’t, I’m not sure I can fully believe you, considering that would be all too convenient for you, wouldn’t it? But now, here we are, and it’s likely that you’d think I’ll suffer more if  _ I’m _ the only one that remembers.” 

 

His lips are brushing against his neck with each word, and Izaya can feel the curl of his smirk pressing into it. He won’t be swayed this easily, he tells himself. Tsukumoya has to be lying, he reassures his fragile pride while his disoriented mind panics in barely contained anxiety. 

 

He...he couldn’t have possibly asked Tsukumoya to do... _ that _ , could he have?

 

“Tell me, Orihara. What would you say if I were to tell you that I’m not suffering at all? That actually,” Tsukumoya sneaks in a small, barely noticeable kiss as he speaks into his skin, almost as if it’s a test or an afterthought that he doesn’t really want to fully commit to, “I’m quite happy with having the very enlightening memories of how you looked, how you sounded, and the interesting things you said in the heat of the moment. I’ve no shame in it, honestly.”

 

Izaya doesn’t know who Tsukumoya thinks he’s fooling, he felt that kiss, and he can feel his temperature rising at the fact the asshole  _ dare  _ puts  _ his _ lips on him  _ again _ (he must have at least kissed him  _ before _ , Izaya supposes reluctantly, face paling).

 

“You on the other hand,” Tsukumoya chuckles  _ again _ , maddeningly, and it instantly flares pain back into every aching nerve in his body, “Good heavens. You should probably be a little ashamed.”

 

Izaya can’t take that ingratiating voice over the rise of his pounding migraine anymore, and if he doesn’t do something quick, he may even have to listen to it for the rest of the day at this rate. He turns, finally shaking off Tsukumoya’s hold on him and met with a small flicker of uncertainty from the man, who doesn’t look like he was anticipating that at all. Tsukumoya is watching him owlishly, shaggy black hair askew and strands slightly obscuring his eyes, waiting for Izaya’s next move first. They’re close, practically nose to nose, and Tsukumoya doesn’t seem deterred by his glaring. He’s raising his eyebrows in challenge, smile spreading over his idiotic face and mouth opening to tease more, when Izaya shuts him up the only way he imagines he knows how now.

 

“I really hate your stupid voice, you know that?” he hisses, and then he’s kissing him, because of course it’s fine as long as  _ he’s _ the one initiating it.

 

It’s awkward, a little sloppy and sluggish like the way his brain feels, but he’s moving over him roughly and shoving in his tongue before Tsukumoya can even dare to get another word in. Tsukumoya seems frozen at first, but starts to move back after a moment of letting Izaya do as he pleases, hands moving to grip his hips as Izaya’s fingers tangle into his hair.

 

As Izaya slips a thumb into the waistband of his boxers with his free hand, digging his fingernails around towards his back and pushing a thigh between his legs, Tsukumoya thinks about last night, thinks back to Izaya laughing about his dick size and how he even ended up in such a bizarre situation in the first place.

 

_ “It-it’s...I bet it’s...microbial...in size, ahahaha!” _

 

_ “I never realized my genital organs were of such interest to you. Also, your lack of creative insults bores me, Orihara. You should try harder if you’re going to make such crude comments,”  _ he’d said, but then he’d been stupid. 

 

He just couldn’t keep himself from going there, especially not with Izaya acting like such a fool. It was a rare sight, to see Izaya so out of that cooly contained control, and he had only wanted to take advantage of it by surprising him. That was all.

 

_ “...But if you’d like for me to come over and let you take notes on it, you’re more than welcome to do so.” _

 

Izaya hadn’t even skipped a beat, simply laughed and told him, _ “Fine, I dare you. But I bet you don’t have the guts!” _ like the childish man that he was.

 

Tsukumoya doesn’t know why he placated the drunkard, nor why he encouraged his immature behavior. It was just a simple test of observation, of seeing the effects of his intoxication up close.

 

How was he to know that as soon as he came over, Izaya, who had seemingly been lurking right by the front door in strange anticipation, would drag him inside and attempt to suck his soul out through his mouth?

 

How could he ever in a million years have predicted that this man he’d been watching from afar for so long apparently harbored indecent thoughts about him, that said man would strip him of his shirt and pants without so much as a greeting or even a mild dose of the usual mockery first?

 

And most importantly, and the thing plaguing his rapidly shifting thoughts above the rest, why in the world had he gone along with it? Why, oh why, had he just stared numbly as Izaya slowly  - albeit humorously clumsily and uncoordinated as per the alcohol greatly hindering his movements - but surely stripped himself of his own clothes with that unfamiliar glint in his eye?

 

Why had he watched stupidly with baited breath as the material pooled around his ankles and exposed that lean, peculiar outline; why had he felt frozen in place as the moonlight streaming from the overlarge window illuminated that outline in a way he couldn’t say he didn’t curiously admire?

 

He’s brought back from his wandering thoughts, as it’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore Izaya when he’s acting so predictably needy. The leg intertwined between his own is insistent, and - embarrassingly enough - knocking against his rapidly growing arousal. This could either end up being very bad, or being very good, and both of those predictions are currently bothering him immensely.

 

But he doesn’t have to worry about where Izaya’s impulsivity is taking this much longer, because he abruptly pulls away to clutch his head, groaning and cursing as he blinks at Tsukumoya blearily as if he’s just noticing he’s there for the first time.

 

“Ugh...ow...damnit...what am I...even doing…”

 

“Honestly?” his response as usual is immediate, if only to attempt to cover up the awkwardness of being vulnerably turned on in Orihara Izaya’s bed, feeling slightly dizzy and out of breath, “I couldn’t tell you. You lack serious finesse when it comes to kissing. You’re much better at it when you’re intoxicated, though I suspect that may have been a one-time fluke.”

 

Izaya covers his face with his hands in what he assumes is finally a show of shame, sinking further under the covers. Instead of moving away from him, however, he’s inching closer, nudging the top of his head into his chest. The only reason Tsukumoya finds himself wrapping his arms around the pathetic pest again is purely to belittle him about it later, of course.

 

“God...can you just stop...being an asshole for at least...two seconds? Is it really that hard for you to do?” he whines in a small voice, a plea rather unlike him.

 

Tsukumoya reaches a hand down and brushes sweaty hair back from his forehead, because Orihara really is an idiot.

 

“It is,” he insists indignantly, propping his chin over his dumb head, because why else would he be anything but pleasant to such a ridiculous person?

 

Izaya turns uncharacteristically silent in his grasp, no sharp words or even another groan leaving his lips, and Tsukumoya wills his nerves to calm down when he realizes the idiot has fallen back asleep.

 

It’s the second time he’s left him high and dry like this, though perhaps that’s for the best, he thinks as he avoids looking down at the figure curled up disgustingly content in his arms.

 

Because last night, Izaya passed out shortly after he managed to get their clothes off and he kissed him one more time. 

 

But of course.

 

He doesn’t need to know that right now.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i won't apologize for fine art


End file.
